Marianne's Dream
Lines:147Movement:Romanticism
A pale Dream came to a Lady fair,And said, A boon, a boon, I pray!I know the secrets of the air,And things are lost in the glare of day,Which I can make the sleeping see,If they will put their trust in me. And thou shalt know of things unknown,If thou wilt let me rest betweenThe veiny lids, whose fringe is thrownOver thine eyes so dark and sheen:And half in hope, and half in fright,The Lady closed her eyes so bright. At first all deadly shapes were drivenTumultuously across her sleep,And o'er the vast cope of bending heavenAll ghastly-visaged clouds did sweep;And the Lady ever looked to spyIf the golden sun shone forth on high. And as towards the east she turned,She saw aloft in the morning air,Which now with hues of sunrise burned,A great black Anchor rising there;And wherever the Lady turned her eyes,It hung before her in the skies. The sky was blue as the summer sea,The depths were cloudless overhead,The air was calm as it could be,There was no sight or sound of dread,But that black Anchor floating stillOver the piny eastern hill. The Lady grew sick with a weight of fearTo see that Anchor ever hanging,And veiled her eyes; she then did hearThe sound as of a dim low clanging,And looked abroad if she might knowWas it aught else, or but the flowOf the blood in her own veins, to and fro. There was a mist in the sunless air,Which shook as it were with an earthquake's shock,But the very weeds that blossomed thereWere moveless, and each mighty rockStood on its basis steadfastly;The Anchor was seen no more on high. But piled around, with summits hidIn lines of cloud at intervals,Stood many a mountain pyramidAmong whose everlasting wallsTwo mighty cities shone, and everThrough the red mist their domes did quiver. On two dread mountains, from whose crest,Might seem, the eagle, for her brood,Would ne'er have hung her dizzy nest,Those tower-encircled cities stood.A vision strange such towers to see,Sculptured and wrought so gorgeously,Where human art could never be. And columns framed of marble white,And giant fanes, dome over domePiled, and triumphant gates, all brightWith workmanship, which could not comeFrom touch of mortal instrument,Shot o'er the vales, or lustre lentFrom its own shapes magnificent. But still the Lady heard that clangFilling the wide air far away;And still the mist whose light did hangAmong the mountains shook alway,So that the Lady's heart beat fast,As half in joy, and half aghast,On those high domes her look she cast. Sudden, from out that city sprungA light that made the earth grow red;Two flames that each with quivering tongueLicked its high domes, and overheadAmong those mighty towers and fanesDropped fire, as a volcano rainsIts sulphurous ruin on the plains. And hark! a rush as if the deepHad burst its bonds; she looked behindAnd saw over the western steepA raging flood descend, and windThrough that wide vale; she felt no fear,But said within herself, 'Tis clearThese towers are Nature's own, and sheTo save them has sent forth the sea. And now those raging billows cameWhere that fair Lady sate, and sheWas borne towards the showering flameBy the wild waves heaped tumultuously.And, on a little plank, the flowOf the whirlpool bore her to and fro. The flames were fiercely vomitedFrom every tower and every dome,And dreary light did widely shedO'er that vast flood's suspended foam,Beneath the smoke which hung its nightOn the stained cope of heaven's light. The plank whereon that Lady sateWas driven through the chasms, about and about,Between the peaks so desolateOf the drowning mountains, in and out,As the thistle-beard on a whirlwind sails--While the flood was filling those hollow vales. At last her plank an eddy crossed,And bore her to the city's wall,Which now the flood had reached almost;It might the stoutest heart appalTo hear the fire roar and hissThrough the domes of those mighty palaces. The eddy whirled her round and roundBefore a gorgeous gate, which stoodPiercing the clouds of smoke which boundIts aery arch with light like blood;She looked on that gate of marble clear,With wonder that extinguished fear. For it was filled with sculptures rarest,Of forms most beautiful and strange,Like nothing human, but the fairestOf winged shapes, whose legions rangeThroughout the sleep of those that are,Like this same Lady, good and fair. And as she looked, still lovelier grewThose marble forms;--the sculptor sureWas a strong spirit, and the hueOf his own mind did there endureAfter the touch, whose power had braidedSuch grace, was in some sad change faded. She looked, the flames were dim, the floodGrew tranquil as a woodland riverWinding through hills in solitude;Those marble shapes then seemed to quiver,And their fair limbs to float in motion,Like weeds unfolding in the ocean. And their lips moved; one seemed to speak,When suddenly the mountains cracked,And through the chasm the flood did breakWith an earth-uplifting cataract:The statues gave a joyous scream,And on its wings the pale thin DreamLifted the Lady from the stream. The dizzy flight of that phantom paleWaked the fair Lady from her sleep,And she arose, while from the veilOf her dark eyes the Dream did creep,And she walked about as one who knewThat sleep has sights as clear and trueAs any waking eyes can view.